Would you like your martini shaken, stirred … or thrown?

I had never heard of a thrown martini until last July, when Brian Prugalidad suggested it as an alternative to the dry martini I was asking him to make in my usual detail.

Not shaken, not stirred … but thrown

Prugalidad is one of the bartenders at Realm of the 52 Remedies, a bar in San Diego’s Convoy District hidden inside Common Theory Public House. Pass through a glaringly white foyer, with shelves full of jarred roots and herbs in the manner of a Chinese apothecary, to a sumptuously decorated 1920s-style speakeasy.

A menu lists themed drinks like Jade Empress — Ming River baijiu (a sorghum spirit from China’s Sichuan province), green tea-infused shochu and matcha with a salted cream cheese foam — but this is a dedicated crew, always up for a conversation.

Prugalidad brought up aeration, temperature and texture in relation to the thrown martini, and since he was using only gin and vermouth, my classicist martini tastes would be happy.

Bartender Brian Prugalidad mixes a cocktail at the bar of Realm of the 52 Remedies.

(Bill Addison / Los Angeles Times)

What I loved most about that first encounter was the showmanship. Prugalidad settled the ingredients in one ice-filled shaker with a stir of a bar spoon, and then with a second shaker in the other hand he began tossing the liquid back and forth, twisting his torso with increasing speed. On one side, he kept the pour short and close; on the opposite turn, he let the stream grow longer and longer between the canisters, while always keeping the torrent in control. He kept this up for 30 dramatic seconds, and then calmly decanted the cocktail into the glass with a lemon twist. The flavor was lovely, bright and floral.

Seven months ago, deeper thoughts were already percolating on the martini, the subject of a Food-team-wide project published this week.

I wrote an essay about the exact time and place the martini became my drink (hint: the Hollywood statehouse of martini drinking in Los Angeles), which coincided with settling in as an Angeleno late last decade.

The Classic Martini, featuring multicolored olives, at Dante in Beverly Hills

(Alex Justice / For The Times)

Alongside, look for a guide to my favorite places to drink classic martinis around L.A.

For at-home consumption, I make my solo video debut for The Times discussing and haphazardly demonstrating my go-to gins, vermouths, garnishes and one tiny, clutch addition. There is a recipe for my idea of the perfect martini.

Because I am a purist and some of my colleagues are not, Stephanie Breijo, Cindy Carcamo, Danielle Dorsey and Jenn Harris named 14 “martinis” (disapproving quotes mine) that push the drink into new frontiers.

Still, with all that content, I didn’t express everything I had to say — including how I returned to Realm of the 52 Remedies last month for a more intentional inquiry into the thrown martini.

The technique has been around since the advent of cocktail culture: An article in Punch cites several sources detailing its inception in Spain, focused at first as a way to chill wine and sherry, and references in literature to thrown cocktails (not just the martini) that date to the mid-1800s.

This time at Realm, I landed in front of head bartender Chris Lee.

“Training in Seoul,” said Lee, where he grew up, “the martini culture is all about ‘the colder the better.’ People always put gin in the freezer.”

While in Korea, Lee came to appreciate the thrown method for its balancing effect: The ingredients mingle with ice, though without the dilution that comes with shaking the martini, in a way that ultimately lightens the texture while broadening the expression of the botanicals in both the gin and the vermouth.

So we set up an experiment: Two dry martinis made with the same ratios by Lee, one stirred and one shaken. He suggested Tanqueray No. Ten, a variation on the gin brand, for its extra citrus-forward flavors, and dry Dolin blanc for the vermouth.

After mixing the stirred version, Lee went into action, tossing the liquid between shakers just as I’d watched Prugalidad do. He went longer on the technique, closer to 45 seconds. Then he poured both versions.

Chris Lee, head bartender at Realm of the 52 Remedies, makes a thrown martini.

(Bill Addison / Los Angeles Times)

“They taste like two different drinks!” said the friend I’d brought, a fellow martini hound.

Truth. The stirred version had the textbook sharpness on the first sip, the limey-orangey notes almost suspended in iciness. The thrown was rounder, the herbal-citrusy elements more expansive.

This qualifies, without question, as some wild martini geekery. The payoff for me is: In a world that wants to constantly tinker with a cocktail that’s already as close to perfection as one can achieve, there are ways to stretch the contours even with the two primary ingredients. And I dig the theatrics, which largely aren’t a priority for restaurants and bars in Los Angeles.

Do I want every martini I drink to be thrown? No. Is it a fun alternative I’ll seek out now and then, and that I’ll look for more in L.A. proper? Yes and yes.

Also …